


Kingdom Come

by Arabeth_thea



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 14:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7622272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arabeth_thea/pseuds/Arabeth_thea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sitting on a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one.”<br/>― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones</p>
<p>I assume my meeting posture and remain silent while the others talk in circles. They say all types of things to convince her to act on our behalf. At times, it seems that she is judging me with her unblinking gaze. Other times, she seems to be off in another world. I don’t know what to make of her.</p>
<p>Mockingjay from Coin’s Point-of-View, starting with the rescue of Katniss Everdeen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kingdom Come

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first fanfiction! 
> 
> I have always been curious about some of the untold parts of canon, one of which is the underground enigma that is District 13. How did things get to be so regimented? How did a place free of the Capitol turn out so lifeless?
> 
> Through Katniss' eyes, we see the evil that lies beneath their welcoming arms. The worst of them all? Their illustrious leader, President Coin. How did things look from Coin's perspective? How did she turn out to be just as bad, if not worse than President Snow? 
> 
> Knowing what we do from canon, I started with the rescue of our Victors and ran with it. I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Trilogy. Some direct quotes used in appropriate scenes.

 

I am furious. Actually, furious doesn’t even come close to describing how I feel. I wanted- no  _ needed _ the Boy. Why couldn’t he have stayed with Beetee at the lightning tree? The plan was working, but he had to play the hero and go find  _ Her _ . I  _ knew _ this was going to be a disaster. I have been watching Katniss Everdeen on camera since her first reaping, and, needless to say, I am not impressed. Peeta Mellark I can work with. Not the sour-faced girl that had somehow captivated Panem. Now I am stuck reasoning with a stubborn, distrustful and silent Mockingjay when I need a  _ voice _ . The hovercraft bearing Katniss Everdeen, Beetee Latier, Finnick Odair and Haymitch Abernathy arrived only hours earlier and nothing is going according to plan. I need to regroup, while they are all required to be hospitalized for at least a week, maybe more. What was the problem with an earlier extraction? I need to speak with Plutarch about his reasons. 

\-----------------------------------------

Meeting in Command with Plutarch Heavensbee turns out to be even more difficult than our covert SAT communications. He is much more concerned with the show than the underlying truth of the message: frivolous and theatrical when I need him to be subtle. These qualities will not play well with the impoverished Districts. This first meeting in person is giving me a headache. I try to calm my heart rate, keeping my anger in check. I remind myself that I need these people to win this war.

While Plutarch has been speaking, I notice my posture has started to slump. I straighten in my chair, pulling my elbows back in front of me on the table, keeping my hands folded. I resume my impassive meeting posture and redirect Plutarch's attention. “Plutarch, she’s damaged, too damaged to be on camera. Especially without him. What am I going to do with her?” I ask.

Plutarch taps his chin. “We can make it work; we can feed her the lines she needs. I have had my assistant, Fulvia, working on a few propo ideas. All we need is her face, and we’ll be golden. We have her prep team, after all! Besides, having him in captivity might give her the push she needs to fully cooperate.”

I sigh, my left temple beginning to throb. I take a breath through my nose, count to three, then release it. I have found this calming technique useful when dealing with my family. “Let me see what Fulvia has so far, and then we can call a full meeting to discuss our options going forward. The Capitol knows at least to some small degree what we are capable of doing, so we need to act quickly. How soon until Mr. Abernathy is moderately functional?”

Plutarch smiles. “Madam President, I visited him just this morning. Other than being a bit more shaky than usual, he was able to have a whole conversation with me. Without vomiting. I would say he is ready for Command in 24 hours, tops.”

I sigh in relief. This I could work with. If anyone knows how to get inside the Mockingjay’s head it’s Haymitch Abernathy.

\-----------------------------------------

I schedule a meeting in Command Central for the following morning at 0730 hours. When we extracted the tributes from the arena, we gave up the element of surprise. We need to be efficient in our planning before the Capitol gains an advantage from this knowledge. I studied our archives in preparation for this war effort and so learned how the Capitol won the Dark Days war: they simply outlasted those in the districts. Malnourished citizens cannot maintain warfare for an extended period of time under the circumstances of equal engagement against trained Peacekeepers with lifetime of physical training and nutrition. 

The Capitol would say  _ the odds were in their favor _ .

Haymitch eyes me like an animal that can’t decide if they are safe or they are prey. I am expecting him to be extra surly due to his period of “drying out.” His misery was clear when he walked in the room from his sagging, yellow skin, to his dull, red eyes, which blink blearily as I study him.

His voice is gravelly when he finally speaks, his foot tapping out an irregular rhythm under the table. “So, what’s the plan?”

So he is putting the ball in my court. Maybe he is smarter than I thought. Only time will tell. 

I take a breath, starting my speech. Gaining his trust is crucial. “With respect to the urgency with which we need to act, I will keep this short. We have had to reformulate our plan due to the rescue of only half of the “star-crossed lovers,” and  _ not _ the half that I requested. I pause, letting this information sink in. Haymitch shifts in his seat, the incessant tapping stops momentarily. He blinks rapidly, looking down at the table for a moment. When he meets my stare again and resumes tapping I press on. “Ideally we would have a voice and a face to unify the districts in rebellion. That was not to be. If we were to only have one of the two, I believe a  _ voice _ would have been infinitely more useful. Many disagreed, and it seems that I was overruled in the field. I understand that this decision was made under duress, and was the only option at that time. I am sure you can verify this fact, as you were on the hovercraft in question.”

He gives only a small nod, but I read understanding in his eyes. I can’t seem to decipher what exactly he understands, so I continue. 

“That said, our current situation leaves us with a dilemma. We need your assistance in helping the Mockingjay find her “voice.” Haymitch chuckles, scrubbing his hand over his face. I continue as if I hadn’t been interrupted. “We need her to unify the districts, and we need her full cooperation. You need to advise our leadership on how to accomplish this. Mr. Heavensbee has prepared some material to use, as soon as she is able.” 

Haymitch raises his eyebrows. “Plutarch is in charge? This oughta be good…”

I answer him with my concerns about the girl. “I have to be honest, Mr. Abernathy. I don’t believe she will cooperate. As someone who does not know Ms. Everdeen personally, I can only judge what I saw on the cameras. She seems quite distrustful. What will it take for her to understand the gravity of what we face?”

Haymitch is quiet for a minute, sizing me up. He sighs, looking defeated. When he finally speaks, he is short, and to the point. “She needs the boy.” At this, he stands up and leaves the room.

\-----------------------------------------

Once the girl ( _ Katniss, _ I remind myself to call her) is released from the Hospital we give her a schedule. One that she ignores. She attends meals. She attends meetings in Command. At least her body is present, her mind is another story. I spend that time studying her, while it seems that she is studying me. I assume my meeting posture and remain silent while the others talk in circles. They say all types of things to convince her to act on our behalf. At times, it seems that she is judging me with her unblinking gaze. Other times, she seems to be off in another world. I don’t know what to make of her. 

After weeks of silence and hasty retreats without dismissal, Katniss finally issues a demand. She wants to see her ruined District. Expensive. Dangerous. A useless endeavor. I cannot make use of this trip. It will have the sole purpose as a sightseeing tour. But if it gets her to cooperate, so be it. I authorize the hovercraft and crew to prepare for launch the next day. We cannot afford to waste any more time.

\-----------------------------------------

I am on edge. I have been utilizing my breathing techniques to no avail. We received intelligence that within the hour the Capitol is broadcasting mandatory viewing. I know what this means. They are releasing their own propo, and they are going to be using the weapon I had wanted all along. I feel my heart rate increase, and I start my breathing exercises yet again. I calm enough to issue the emergency meeting notice. Once I send the message to everyone’s communicuff, I head to Command. I brace myself for what I am about to see.

I arrive in Command, and remain standing as I await the other attendees. I watch the large television at the far end of the room, dreading the result of this broadcast. Our intelligence never mentioned Peeta Mellark. I know if Snow has any idea of the weapon he has acquired, he will be using it as soon as possible. Once everyone assembles, mirroring my position in front of the screen, my worst fears prove correct. 

At first, I am distracted by Katniss. She walks up to the screen, reaching out, as if to touch Mr. Mellark. Then, his words recapture my attention. He captivates the audience. I imagine every District in Panem holding their collective breath. I curse those who thought that we would be better off with  _ Her _ , one who  _ still _ hasn't agreed to work with us. 

At the end of the interview, I see Snow's goal. Ask for a cease-fire. After such a captivating interview, his last words will be what the audience remembers. I silently curse Snow as well. 

Now I stand here with no Mockingjay, no propos, and on the losing side of war. 

A surge of anger rises like a wave inside me. I hear words like traitor, liar and enemy spoken by members of my own advisory panel. I know what Snow is doing, but the boy agreed. His choice to play along will rest on his shoulders. As my fury builds, I turn to see Katniss leaving the room, without a word,  _ yet again _ . I do not hold back this time. "You have not been dismissed, Soldier Everdeen." 

When she doesn't stop, I look to Boggs, who is standing next to the door. He nods, placing a hand on her arm.  She tries to throw him off but Soldier Hawthorne intervenes and ends up with a bloody nose. She escapes anyway, and I have had enough of this nonsense.

"Soldier Hawthorne, explain yourself." I demand. 

He looks at me, shamefaced. He had been eager to help with the war effort when he had arrived. When I heard that he was able to aid in the escape and survival of over eight hundred refugees, I saw potential. I awarded him with a place in Command working on planning efforts and his own communicuff. This privilege has been taken for granted. 

"I apologize for my actions, Madam President," he replies. He dabs at his bloody nose with his sleeve before continuing. "But I know her. She just needs time to process this, and needs a quiet space. There are too many people here for her to think." 

I mull over his answer, breathing and counting to quiet my rage at the turn of events. This is a reasonable explanation. He cannot know what is at stake, but perhaps I can make him understand where she will not. I need him to communicate the absolute urgency of her decision to work with us. He must also understand that this type of behavior will not be tolerated.

"I see. First, I it is necessary that I relieve you of your communicuff. I do not tolerate insubordination," I say. Boggs holds out his hand, Hawthorne removes his communicuff, and places it in his palm. “As for your concerns about Ms. Everdeen, I will say this. We are at war. Time wasted means casualties. This propo is was Snow's idea, but having Mr. Mellark deliver the message makes a huge impact. We need Ms. Everdeen to help unify the districts. The resistance is strong in some, but not in others. A good propo can make or break this war. She can have tonight, but I expect her full cooperation first thing tomorrow morning."

Soldier Hawthorne's face hardens in understanding. He gives me a fierce look, standing straight and tall. "Madam President, I will speak to her. I will ensure that she understands what is at stake."

I nod in approval. "You are dismissed, Soldier Hawthorne."

\-----------------------------------------

I pace in my private compartment. After her trip to District 12 yesterday, Ms. Everdeen  _ still _ will not give me an answer. I have been beyond lenient with her. Now the Capitol has aired a very effective propo featuring Mr. Mellark, whom I wanted in the first place, and we still have nothing to show for our efforts. I am at wits end at what to do with her. She is naturally distrustful. How do I win her loyalty? Has she no idea what I’ve accomplished? No. She couldn’t. She can’t know that I saved this District from near ruin. Of course, those who almost destroyed the District were the previous government officials. The worst offenders? 

My own family.  

My father, the former President of District 13, was far too free with our supplies. He served as mayor of our District under the oppression of the Capitol, and the newfound freedom made him foolish. Unlike my brother, I studied our history, finding patterns like it was a huge puzzle to solve. I was interning in the stock division when I started seeing shortages. I had heard of the periodic shortages we had since our liberation. How they were much more serious than any of the citizens knew. Food, clean water, clothing, and even sources of electricity. My father reasoned that we were finally free of the Capitol’s clutches, and we needed to embrace it. The Capitol controlled every aspect of people’s lives, so he was loathe to appear like them. I tried explaining to him, logically, what would happen if we continued. I calculated projections and presented my data in easy to read graphs. Nothing was working. He was trying to ignore the problem in hopes that it would all go away. And my brother was no better. He adored my father, and would not listen to a word against him. They would be the downfall of us all, unless I was able to act.

So act I did. 

I was desperate. My projections had us teetering on the edge of destruction. That was another unfortunate event that had not gone to plan. None of the Command force were supposed to leave that room. Command Central was outfitted with it’s own intake and exhaust ventilation. Implemented by the Capitol technicians, this system would protect leadership from airborne contaminants. The virus would be completely contained. I chose a mutated pox virus, buried and forgotten in an old laboratory refrigerator. The lab, long out of use, had been the center for biological weapons development years ago. I found information describing the virus’ effects deep in our archives. The virus was developed to be one of stealth. When airborne in low concentrations it wasn't deadly, it just rendered the subjects infertile. It had many useful applications. Extermination of unwanted outsiders, stifling dissent, all by preventing reproduction. The people in question would never even know they’ve been attacked. I cultivated the specimen and waited for the opportune moment. When inhaled in high concentrations, the virus was deadly. Perfect for my needs. Pox viruses were not all that uncommon. No one could trace it back to me. I placed the specimen next to the intake just before entering Command Central. It would have been vented back outside to our “smoldering ruins.” I would place the specimen back in the old refrigerator where I found it. Efficient. Those in the room would die quickly. How was I to know that some fool would respond to a call from his wife because she was in labor? He opened the door before the virus had completely passed through the room. He let it escape and spread throughout the entire District.

Even I was affected, rendered infertile from the doctor’s examination. It didn’t matter though, I knew I never wanted children, and was never interested in love or sex. My family didn’t want me, I knew that from an early age. My younger brother was the son they always wanted; he was groomed to carry on the Presidential line. My opinions didn’t matter.

Those in Command were the first to succumb, followed by many others in the district.  _ So many others. _ I could never have anticipated the destruction. That single specimen killed almost two-thirds of our district, and rendered many more infertile. Many were scarred, the children born later were disfigured. I became even more determined to bring our district to power and greatness. We had suffered, but we would prevail.

I was the only one left fit to govern. I had trained under some of the best advisors to take a position as a panel member to my brother when he would have most certainly been elected. I was the most likely candidate, and my cool head served me well as the interim President during the crisis. I immediately initiated a call for volunteers to aid in the Hospital tending the sick. To accomplish this, I had to play on their emotions. I told them that their loved ones would surely die without proper care, and we had too few doctors and nurses to serve. I watched as many of those still unaffected by the virus came to the aid of the Hospital. After the danger had passed, the citizens had a renewed sense of purpose. They asked for reassignment where they could be of the greatest use. I learned the importance of appealing to their better nature. Manipulate people without them knowing they are being manipulated. 

The art of subtlety, my greatest weapon. 

After the crisis was contained, I received the only nomination to be the new President of District 13. I won the official presidency by the popular vote, without opposition. Referring to my years of research, I began to structure each area of our lives. I started with our basic needs, food sources, clean water, and electricity. I needed to make our stock last until we could start production with new food sources. We had access to nuclear reactors, but they needed updating and better maintenance. I decided to begin more specialized training. Asking citizens to volunteer in areas where they might have an interest. In my research, I had access to training manuals for everything. Weapons development, hovercraft repair, even high level security drill procedures. I used this information to my advantage.  All this accomplished by including those hints of direction. 

In the beginning, after the virus had abated, I gave a speech detailing the state of our supplies. I reinforced efficiency as the only way we could survive. We were wholly dependent on zero waste. I instilled enough fear to make them understand how crucial this would be. I told them how many times in the past we were close to destruction because of our wastefulness. That if we want to prosper, we must be wise with what we have. They took my words to heart. It didn't take long before I had built a well-oiled machine. 

Once our domestic issues were resolved, we were able to move on to bigger and better things. I started looking to Panem and the Capitol. I rebuilt the military. Trained soldiers and hovercraft pilots, and even managed to make contact with Capitol Rebels. The quality of information that we were able to obtain was impressive. When Plutarch Heavensbee entered the picture, all we needed to do was wait for the spark. When Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark survived the berry incident, I knew it was time to act. We began plotting. We needed to decide when to declare ourselves a worthy opponent of the Capitol and ally of the Districts.

After President Snow disposed of Crane, Plutarch took over as Head Gamemaker. He said that he volunteered for the job since no one else seemed to want it. I think Snow might have been suspicious of him for supporting the idea of two victors. As Head Gamemaker, everything Plutarch did would be scrutinized. And, well, if he failed? Then Snow could arrange another “accident.”

Thinking of the Head Gamemaker brings me back to the present and reminds me of the problem at hand. Remembering the crisis in the hospital has given me an idea. The girl’s mother and sister work in the hospital. She will be sympathetic to the plight of suffering. I decide to use an old strategy to get the Mockingjay to cooperate. I will appeal to her better nature, remind her of the things that are important. Make sure she realizes that people are suffering because of her indecision. How the entire rebellion may fail because she would not help us.

\-----------------------------------------

I am ready and waiting with my game plan when our Mockingjay appears in Command the next morning. I am surprised when she immediately asks for a pencil and paper. This is the first show of active participation she has shown since she arrived. She then proceeds to waste an inordinate amount of time writing. I watch her, my gaze never leaving her face. Plutarch finally gets her attention by asking if she is finished. This pulls her out of some sort of trance, and she seems to notice the full room of high-ranking officials. Then she begins to speak.

"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, so this is the deal. I'll be your Mockingjay."

I understand immediately that there are conditions, so I wait. I am in no mood to waste more time. I continue to watch her, waiting for her list of demands. 

"But I have some conditions," she says. "My family gets to keep our cat." 

She can't be serious. We are at war, and she wants a pet? There are difficulties, and the pet is useless. I keep my commentary to myself. I let the other attendees work out the details on this one, and I give the final word. 

"Your family may keep your pet. You and your family will be moved to the top level compartments. Your pet may use the window of the compartment to come and go feed and relieve himself. If he is outside at curfew, he will be locked out. If he becomes a security issue, he will be shot immediately. Let's move on. What is your next condition?" I ask, wanting to be finished with this useless demand.

"I want to hunt. With Gale. Out in the woods," she says. 

Hawthorne jumps in the conversation as well. "We won't go far. We'll use our own bows. You can have the meat for the kitchen."

This is useful, it would actually provide food for the people of the District as well. The demand to hunt is easier to accommodate. At least that is something I can understand. The need to hone your craft, although different than mine, resonates with me. Before anyone has a chance to comment, the girl continues.

"It's just...I can't breathe shut up here like a...I would get better, faster, if...I could hunt."

Plutarch is concerned, and starts to discuss the dangers of acquiescence. I stop him before he can get too far. 

"No. Let them. Give them two hours a day, deducted from their training time. A quarter-mile radius. With communication units and tracker anklets. What's next?"

"Gale. I'll need him with me to do this," she adds after looking back at her list. 

"With you how? Off camera? By your side at all times? Do you want him presented as your new lover?" I ask her. I don't understand what she means. This could mean any number of things, and I am eager to move on.  I have already given my approval for her and Hawthorne to hunt. She seems surprised by my question.

"What?" she asks, dumbfounded.

"I think we should continue the current romance. A quick defection from Peeta could cause the audience to lose sympathy for her," says Plutarch. "Especially since they think she's pregnant with his child."

This makes sense. There are some in the districts that bought into the love story, so that should be preserved. After all this trouble, I wouldn't want the image of the Mockingjay tarnished and end up costing us the war. 

"Agreed. So, on-screen, Gale can simply be portrayed as a fellow rebel. Is that alright?" I say. She acts like she doesn't hear me, and seems to be staring right through me, gripping her paper like a lifeline. I repeat myself, growing more impatient by the minute. "For Gale. Will that be sufficient?"

"We can always work him in as your cousin," says Fulvia. This ridiculous comment seems to break her out of her trance.

"We're not cousins," she and Hawthorne snap angrily at Fulvia in unison.

"Right, but we should probably keep that up for appearances' sake on camera," says Plutarch. "Off camera, he's all yours. Anything else?"

"When the war is over, if we've won, Peeta will be pardoned." Her voice rings out in the silence. 

I was not expecting this. Only one propo has aired, and I have no idea how much damage it has caused. That one propo could have lost us this war. Snow knows what he is doing by using Peeta Mellark’s voice to further his agenda. Isn’t that what I had wanted after all? 

She elaborates, "No form of punishment will be inflicted. The same goes for the other captured tributes, Johanna and Enobaria."

"No," I say, leaving no room for argument in my tone.

"Yes," she answers, her voice laced with anger. "It's not their fault you abandoned them in the arena. Who knows what the Capitol's doing to them?"

"They'll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit," I answer.

"They'll be granted immunity!" she rises out of her chair, glaring at me. She stares down at me, voice full of passion. She begins stating her demands as if  _ she _ is the one in charge. I suddenly have a moment of deja vu. I feel the fury rising in my chest and my blood thundering in my ears. My father standing over me, using that same tone in this very room. Ignoring my opinion. Blind to the truth. Sealing the fate of the District.  _ Sentencing us to death _ .

"You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety, or you'll find yourself another Mockingjay!"

When she finishes speaking, there is only silence. I am so angry, I cannot speak. I can only keep my rage in check and breathe as I have done all these years to calm myself. My temple throbs with the spike in my blood pressure. 

Voices erupt all around me. I ignore them, studying the girl across from me, looking for the reasoning behind this demand. As I breathe, count, breathe, count, breathe, I distract myself from my anger by trying to puzzle over her motive. The rush of blood in my ears begins to quiet, and I start to hear what some of the voices are saying.

"That's her!" I hear Fulvia hiss to Plutarch. "Right there. With the costume, gunfire in the background, just a hint of smoke."

"Yes, that's what we want," says Plutarch under his breath.

Then it hits me. The beach in the Quarter Quell, she wasn’t acting.  She really does love him. This passion is protective. I recognize this girl from her first reaping.

"What do you say, President?" Plutarch turns to me. "You could issue an official pardon, given the circumstances. The boy...he's not even of age."

"All right, but you'd better perform." I concede, but I give her no terms. She would never agree to any special conditions, not when it comes to Peeta Mellark. Especially if my theory is correct. Besides, I have a plan forming.

"I'll perform when you've made the announcement," she bites back.

"Call a national security assembly during Reflection today," I tell my assistant. I never break eye contact with our new Mockingjay. "I'll make the announcement then. Is there anything left on your list, Katniss?"

“I kill Snow.” 

I allow myself a smile as I tell her, "When the time comes, I'll flip you for it."

Her face registers understanding. "Fair enough."

I check my wrist to for my next engagement. This meeting is officially over, so I can move on.  "I'll leave her in your hands, then, Plutarch."

It seems I have a speech to write. 

\-----------------------------------------

Finally, we are ready to film our first propo. Fulvia and Plutarch have spent weeks preparing material, backgrounds, and atmosphere. We even have the Mockingjay suit Cinna designed himself. Everything is set in the studio. We start by filming one impassioned line. I wait in the booth with Haymitch to see the first run for myself. I have prepared months for this moment.

Disappointing doesn’t come close to describing what I see. The girl on our screen in the studio is robotic. Not even a shadow of the passionate Mockingjay making the deal with me in Command. This means more time, effort and resources wasted. I can’t help but think we rescued only part of Katniss Everdeen out of that arena. We will end up losing this war because this child refuses to get her act together. Haymitch and I share a disbelieving look, as he turns on the intercom connecting the booth to the studio. 

He barks out a bitter laugh as he says, “And that, my friends, is how a revolution dies.” 

How right he is. He asks that, with my permission, we gather everyone in Command. He would like to have a brainstorming session. I don't know what he has planned, but when it comes to the Mockingjay, I trust his instincts. I give my approval immediately. He begins by asking for an assortment of volunteers. Various refugees and her prep team are all asked to attend along with Plutarch's team and my own.

We gather at the scheduled time, and I give Haymitch the floor. We are all in agreement that the current propo footage is useless. He proceeds to ask those in attendance times that Katniss Everdeen inspired them.  As each individual starts volunteering significant moments, I start to get anxious. I haven’t pinpointed the reason, before Hawthorne does that for me. The Mockingjay’s most inspirational moments were unscripted, and completely her own. I have underestimated her. I attributed the majority of her likability to Peeta Mellark. I missed the very thing I pride in myself: subtlety. 

Haymitch suggests sending her into combat as a resolution to our problem. I see his point, and I can't say I disagree. It would be unfortunate for her to die in the field, just when she decides to help our cause. Before I can speak, Boggs raises his concerns.

"Even if we're careful, we can't guarantee her safety," says Boggs. "She'll be a target for every--"

"I want to go," she interrupts him. "I'm no help to the rebels here."

"And if you're killed?" I ask her, interested in her answer.

"Make sure you get some footage. You can use that, anyway," she answers.

"Fine, but let's take it one step at a time. Find the least dangerous situation that can evoke some spontaneity in you." I sigh. I can't argue. If she dies, we can use the footage, and we would have a martyr for the cause. That rules out any other propos. I wonder, if we could air her death in the Capitol, how would that effect Snow and his propos with Mr. Mellark? Something to consider later. 

I walk around Command studying the maps, trying to decide on the best option. "Take her into Eight this afternoon. There was heavy bombing this morning, but the raid seems to have run its course. I want her armed with a squad of bodyguards. Camera crew on the ground. Haymitch, you'll be airborne and in contact with her. Let's see what happens there. Does anyone have any other comments?"

"Wash her face," says Dalton. Everyone turns to him. "She's still a girl and you made her look thirty-five. Feels wrong. Like something the Capitol would do."

"I agree. Let's make sure the Mockingjay appears like herself. Everyone going to Eight prepare for departure. This meeting is adjourned." 

Haymitch stops me on my way out the door, requesting a private audience with the Mockingjay. I agree without issue, my mind on other matters. I am already reflecting on the meeting. The information I learned today will require a new strategy. I need to use this information to my advantage.

\-----------------------------------------

The footage is just what we need. I was right to trust Haymitch when it comes to the Mockingjay’s inner workings. The camera crew was able to capture footage we could never have simulated in the studio. The Capitol attack, while unanticipated, worked in our favor. We start creating propos immediately. Beetee reports that he has managed to override the Capitol feeds to the Districts, giving us access to precious airtime. Within 24 hours of the group’s return from District 8 we have already aired multiple propos. 

When I watch the raw footage, I am alarmed to see the true effect she has on the people of Panem. I also happen to see the Mockingjay’s blatant disregard of Boggs’s orders. I wonder if this rebellion against all authority figures will one day get her killed? 

Right when we are making headway with our propos, Snow airs another interview with Mr. Mellark. The interview can't last three minutes, and looks to be all that boy can stand with the state he is in. I send Plutarch and Fulvia to ensure that the Mockingjay does not see this interview. After we had just started making progress, we cannot afford any setbacks.  

Mr. Mellark is deteriorating; unfocused and jittery. He is no longer robust, looking more like a lost boy than an idealistic young man fighting for his wife. They are negating his powerful voice; I can’t believe Snow would be that stupid. Keeping the boy healthy would be a much better option. I would not have wasted his talent. 

I smile grimly. It is clear this message is for the Mockingjay. He has Mr. Mellark addressing her by name. It’s such a stupid, obvious mistake, wasting the boy like this. Snow is cracking. My subtle approach is above even him. The only reason Snow would destroy Mr. Mellark would be for the Mockingjay’s benefit.

Perhaps he doesn’t see me as a threat.  _ Good _ .

\-----------------------------------------

Snow must be slipping into madness. I am baffled at his reasoning behind showing an very damaged Peeta Mellark to Panem. Tonight’s broadcast is just bizarre. A tortured Peeta Mellark is standing in front of a map ascribing damage to infrastructure to the Rebels. It is painful to watch. After we break into their feed, their set turns to chaos, so I don't know if they have any real message. The warning at the end of the broadcast is difficult to decipher as well. I find it hard to believe that Snow would waste resources bombing an underground district. They know our location, but what good will bombing the surface do? 

The boy is unstable, so it is possible that he is either lying or imagining the bombing about to take place. The Mockingjay seems convinced that we are in danger. In the end, it is Haymitch’s concern that convinces me. He does not mince words, for better or for worse. I decide that we could at least use a high level drill. If the warning turns out to be in error, the one scheduled next month will just be completed early. I order the start of the drill, and we descend into the depths of the earth.

\-----------------------------------------

I need to regroup. After the bombing was over, we sent a crew to the surface to assess the damage. We included the Mockingjay and her camera crew for a chance to record a short propo. We want to show Snow that he wasted his resources, to air immediately. 

At some point during the bombing, my Mockingjay was broken. 

I received the report from the crew immediately after returning from the surface. The Mockingjay had to be sedated. She was in hysterics, unable to breathe. She could not deliver a single line for the propo. According to Mr. Abernathy, she is under the impression that each propo results in the further torture of Mr. Mellark. Thus she can no longer perform. Yet  _ another _ setback.

The Mockingjay is not the only one concerned about the welfare of Mr. Mellark. The District, as well as my advisors, demand his rescue in return for saving their lives. Reluctantly, I request volunteers for the mission. A rescue party is organized and deployed within a couple of hours. I placate myself by thinking that at least I will have the matched set for propos, like I planned in the beginning. I had never been so very wrong.

\-----------------------------------------

Hijacking. I had read about various forms of brainwashing in our archives, but there were no notes on treatment or recovery. Tracker Jackers were used as weapons during the first revolution, but there were no survivors of hijackings then. Perhaps the dose used was too high? They possibly did not focus the victim’s fear on a specific item? They didn’t incorporate enough reality to make them want to stay alive, even in their altered state? I tell the doctors to do what they can. If he can be recovered, even if just enough for propos with the Mockingjay, at least our efforts will not be wasted. 

Snow is a fool. He ruined a perfectly good weapon.

I sit across the table in from the Mockingjay yet again. Days after the attempted strangulation, Plutarch requested a meeting in Command. With the new development, she has requested reassignment to District 2. 

As Plutarch, Haymitch and I discuss the specifics of the Mockingjay's accommodations in District 2, I take the time to study her. She is lethargic, her eyes dull. She has reverted to her silent presence, only this time, she is more unfocused. She keeps her arms wrapped around herself, her collar is turned up, concealing some of the bruises on her neck. 

I wonder what it must be like, existing in my own world. A world where everyone around me caters to my needs. Where time has no meaning. She doesn't realize the lives lost. All for her. 

Yet here she sits. Silent. Useless.  _ Defiant _ .

\-----------------------------------------

Plutarch has an idea to inspire the Rebels, something happy, for their entertainment. He wants to film the wedding between two of the rescued victors. Says it will pack an emotional punch. I approve his idea, and ask him to have Fulvia to turn in his list of required resources for approval first thing tomorrow morning. 

He looks at me, aghast. “Tomorrow? How can I plan a wedding in one day? It’s- It’s just not possible,” he stutters.

“I don’t understand?” I ask.

Plutarch looks at me, dumbfounded. “It is a wedding of course! There is the feast, and dancing, the ceremony, the alcohol, then the entertainment. And then everyone must be dressed their best.”

The longer he speaks, the higher I can feel my blood pressure rise. Doesn’t he understand we are at war? That we don’t have food for a feast, and the district citizens don’t have other clothing but the uniforms they are issued. Entertainment? I can’t begin to comprehend what someone from the Capitol might mean by this statement. After watching Mr. Odair’s propo, I would rather not think about it. 

“It seems that we have very different ideas about what a wedding entails. There will be no feast, entertainment, or alcohol. We do not have the food to spare, we do not produce alcohol in this district, and I do not wish to expose our citizens to the Capitol’s idea of entertainment.”

As I speak, Plutarch’s face turns red with anger. He yells, “What is the point if no one is having any fun!” 

_ Fun. _ He uses this word as if that is why we are here. People like him may have been fortunate enough to have time and resources to waste on fun, but I have not. Working with him is taking it’s toll, and this war cannot end soon enough. It is clear that working as a Gamemaker has skewed his idea of fun. Perhaps this is why he chose to rescue the Mockingjay instead of Mr. Mellark out of that burning arena. She had more spunk, would be more  _ fun _ to work with. Well, whatever his reasons, she has been a thorn in my side since day one. 

After much consternation from Plutarch, we are able to settle on the details of the wedding propo. A volunteer choir of district children. Borrowed finery from the Mockingjay and Mr. Mellark. A wedding cake is my concession on food. That is all. This is more than we can afford, but I am assured that if it speeds the end of the war, we will have more than enough to replace our resources soon. 

\-----------------------------------------

After the wedding, the Mockingjay decides that she wants to be a soldier. She hasn’t attended training, classes, or anything else on her schedule, save a few mealtimes. I don’t know where she’s been, but I don’t need her looking like a fool as she dies. She may be able to survive in the woods against other children, but she doesn’t know a thing about a real war. She looks determined. I decide that if she can pass the same test as all the other soldiers, she can go die a hero’s death if she wishes.

After the scheduled meetings for the day, I request a brief brainstorming session with Boggs and Plutarch. I tell them my idea about a “Star Squad.” They would not participate in any real fighting, but it would provide additional footage for propos. Plutarch loves the idea, and promises to get to work immediately. Boggs is more reluctant. He searches my face for an explanation. He seems to see his answer, and volunteers to head the unit. I agree, reserving the sole right to appoint the members of his team. He reluctantly agrees, seeming unsure of my plan. He cannot figure out my motive, and gets up to leave. He stops, just before the door. “She’s a good kid, you know. She reminds me of my oldest daughter. Just with a lot more life experiences that I would never want her to have to face.” He looks at me once more, and walks away. He saw through me, even a little bit, which makes me uncomfortable. His comparison to his daughter means he will try to protect her. 

\-----------------------------------------

It’s getting late. I have been watching him through the one way glass for some time now. Besides being on the thin side, he looks completely normal. After beginning the morphling counter-hijacking treatment, his recovery was much quicker than expected. After a thorough mental and physical health assessment, he was cleared to start training. 

He is concentrating on a sketch pad as his hands work over the paper. He was only issued a dull charcoal, so he is not put at risk, but he has not complained. As I watch him, I am lost in thought once again.

How would this war have turned out if we had rescued him instead of the Mockingjay? He was compliant with Snow to protect her, even though he must have known she was safer here. Much safer than he was in Snow’s hands. He would have done anything I asked to get her away from Snow. He would not have defied me in front of my advisors and leadership. He would not have challenged me and my role as future president after we win this war. He is good with words, charismatic; but not defiant like she is. Anger starts to well up in my chest when I think of her. When I think of that fateful meeting when we made the deal for his immunity. How lucky are we that Snow wasted his most powerful weapon?

Then I begin to think of the raw footage of her in that hospital. The way the citizens reacted to her, just by seeing her face. I feel worry in the pit of my stomach. No matter how many concessions I have made, or warnings issued, the Mockingjay has remained steadfastly against me. I need to do something, before this war is over and it’s too late.

I look back in the room at Mr. Mellark, and I think I have my solution.

\-----------------------------------------

Plutarch keeps complaining that the Star Squad footage is useless. Uninspiring. Boring. I watch as Mr. Hawthorne is lazily shooting at a window, breaking glass. I agree that something needs to happen. I am pondering my next move when I receive word that one of the Leeg sisters has been killed by a mislabelled pod. 

This stroke of luck allows me to replace her with Mr. Mellark. 

The doctors state that though he is improving, he is not even close to ready to face the Capitol or open warfare. He is still prone to attacks, and may be a danger to those around him. 

“I understand your concerns. While I value your professional opinions, I must override them at this time,” I say with diplomacy.

The medical team assigned to Mr. Mellark looks at me in confusion.

I continue, prepared for their protests. I have to justify my move to my advisors, as well as Plutarch’s people. “We are at war. Thousands of lives have been lost. Throughout history, wars have been won and lost based on the quality of propaganda. We are so close to winning. Mr. Heavensbee has reported our “Star Squad” footage has been abysmal. We need to keep the Rebel’s spirits up. We need one last push to take the Capitol. I think Mr. Mellark and the Mockingjay working together to take down the Capitol is just the push they need. They need to see him recovered, fighting for the Rebels. Don’t you agree?” I look around the room at my advisors. I give them a moment to consider this information. I see understanding lighting up on their faces, one by one. I press on.

“We cannot afford to lose any more lives or resources if at all possible. From early in this war, the Mockingjay has made it clear that she would be willing to die for our cause. I don’t want that to happen, but she is in combat. She has nearly given her life for our cause multiple times already. None of these instances, save for one, involved Mr. Mellark. You say that Mr. Mellark could harm her during one of his episodes? I argue that she will be surrounded by a squad of soldiers to protect her. What are the odds, in the middle of this war, that Mr. Mellark would be the one to take her life?”

This causes the medical team to look at each other, doubt written on their faces. They finally give their assent, signing the necessary paperwork releasing him from their care. 

\-----------------------------------------

I watch as the last of the supplies are loaded on the hovercraft, bound for the Capitol. Mr. Mellark will be boarding momentarily. I imagine the reunion he will have with the Mockingjay. My mind drags up the last image I have of her before she began training. Barging into Command during a Top Secret planning session. Wild-eyed, hair unkempt, wearing a hospital gown. This  _ child  _ claimed she was our best shot, that we  _ needed  _ her. So ridiculous! What hold she has over the people of Panem I will never understand. I feel my anger rising. I will take care of this problem. She will not continue to sabotage me. 

\-----------------------------------------

I am beginning to think that nothing will kill her. She is like the roaches that survived original bombing of District 13. When the areas on the surface were inspected after the bombing had ceased, there was nothing left. Nothing but rubble and roaches. 

She has somehow managed to get to the City Center. I watch her struggle through the crowded streets on my Capitol Security camera feed.  _ Good _ , I think. 

She will get to watch the show live. 

I see the Capitol labelled hovercraft release the parachutes. Our timing is impeccable. Perfectly synchronized with the arrival of our Medics. I get a perfect view of her face when she realizes her sister is among them. She was so easy to convince, so naive and trusting. Or is it simply my way with words? The mere suggestion that we needed young, skilled medics on the front was all it took. It was obvious that her big sister had protected her too much. Never let her learn her own sense of self-preservation. She was shipped out before her mother could even be notified. Our need was dire, not a minute to lose.

I think about our bright future, as I watch them all go up in flames. 

A necessary sacrifice to ensure the smooth transition of power. Without the Mockingjay to interfere, there will not be dissent. The people will not question me. No more lives will be lost. Primrose Everdeen, Katniss Everdeen, and Peeta Mellark. Their loss will be heartbreaking, of course.

But a necessary expenditure, nonetheless.

\-----------------------------------------

Today is the day. 

Ever since the surrender, everything has gone exactly to plan. I became the President of Panem. Everything I have worked for has finally come to fruition.

My idea of one last Hunger Games to balance the need for revenge with the loss of life has been approved. The Board of Advisors gave only one condition; that the surviving Victors vote their approval as well. 

Snow was convicted of his crimes and will be executed. I will stand before the people as the One who finally freed Panem from his oppression. Their precious Mockingjay will be the one to fire the final symbolic shot of the war. The people will love it!

Even though I failed to kill the Mockingjay, I have at least extinguished her spark. She is broken. Irreparable. She will not resist me. I was told she has not spoken a single word since the bombs. She will not be an issue much longer. I plan on splurging on a nice memorial for her when she is gone. 

 

When the victors vote to approve the final Hunger games, including the Mockingjay, I am almost giddy. 

  
  


_ Everything is going to plan. _

  
  
  


**_Nothing can stop me._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed my little twist on canon. Coin was a fascinating character to explore. I could not have done this without the encouragement and guidance of greenwool, beta extraordinaire, or thegreatorangedragon for her amazing prereading skills! Thank you so much for your help!
> 
> Please feel free to comment and/or find me on tumblr @arabeth-thea, I love discussions!
> 
> Inspiration for the infertility/deadly pox virus. Interesting and scary article!  
> http://www.nytimes.com/2001/01/23/world/australians-create-a-deadly-mouse-virus.html
> 
> I wanted to mention something about the virus- I know airborne is risky… My thought is that Coin is educated, but bordering on arrogant. She would have read in the archives about the virus, but not the “warning label.” Thirteen’s biology knowledge would be in between district and Capitol, so more than usual, but not enough. In her desperation, she would have neglected the surface contamination in Command. So the District plague is my sinister spin on “This would have happened anyway.”


End file.
